Stars at Noon
by noisee
Summary: Edward drives to get away, but he knows he's always been fast. [Oneshot][NM spoilers]


_noisee: First, I'd like to say that I wrote this oneshot because of two things:_

_1) I was enamored with the _Twilight_ series the way one is enamored with an awesome bishie in an anime (I assume all you _Twilight_ readers have some idea of what anime is because, really, what is _Twilight_ but an overused anime plot? an overused _anything_ plot?) and there was just not enough Edward in _New Moon_. I don't care about Jacob Black or werewolves, honestly._

_2) Not enough Edward. (What? Oh, okay, my bad.) Because I don't think Stephanie Meyers took her characters far enough, or made them defined enough- there are so many things she'd overlooked in her focusing on Bella-slash-Edward-slash-boys-slash-Bella-squared that the cast feels kind of two-dimensional._

_I did enjoy reading, but the two books weren't really anything amazing. Cliched and whatnot. It made me fangirl and I wish it hadn't, because I don't see anything I could admire Meyer for. But, you know, points for effort._

_Now here's what everyone came here for: Edward! ANDBELLA'SANIDIOT!_

**Stars at Noon**

It was too easy. Too, too easy.

Edward barreled down the highway, the speedometer ticking well past 100. The needle shook, as though warning him. He snorted humorlessly at the thought, one hand raking through his tousled bronze locks, the other white on the steering wheel.

_As if I need a warning for _that_, of all things._

He scowled at the windshield, only dimly aware of the concrete that flew under his wheels, of the fleeting images of cars heading toward the place he left behind.

He was, however, scathingly aware of _that_, the destination. What he left behind. His home, his stars, his heart, all summed up with one word:

_Bella._

The steering wheel squeaked within his grasp, and he had to command himself to ease up, lest he crush the poor thing. Edward inhaled a shaky breath, more for comfort than necessity, concentrating on the age-old ritual that had long since been reduced to a habit, anything- _anything!_- to take his mind off of _her_. The one, the only. _His_ one and only.

_Bella…!_

How had it been so easy? How could the light in her eyes have crumpled with so slight a touch? Did his feelings for her truly appear so fickle? Was she really even more delicate than he had already assumed?

He thought of his hands; the long, artist's fingers that belied their monstrous power with a delicate façade, hands that had come so close to crushing innumerable innocents- but only one of those faces was causing him to clench his terrible hands into fists and-

The steering wheel collapsed within his grip, and he released it at once, moving from eleven and one to nine and three. He pulled onto the dirt shoulder and parked harmlessly at the side of the road. There, he bowed his head down, forehead to decimated wheel. He hissed out a string of profanities, every single curse he had learned in the past eighty years, and couldn't stop thinking about her. Isabella Marie Swan, with the appallingly delicious taste, the scent it was impossible to escape, the beautiful, stubborn girl who had done everything for her mother, cried for her father, and couldn't sleep well when it rained. She was an angel, and he was akin to Lucifer.

_It's for the better,_ he told himself, heart-wrenchingly honest, _she'll move on eventually, and she'll be safe. Someone will always protect her, someone-_

An image of the annoyingly loyal Mike Newton appeared in his mind, down on one knee, presenting a velvet box to a smiling Bella. Edward's nails printed little crescents into his palm, threatening to break the skin. He ignored the terrifyingly strong urge to speed back to Forks and crush Newton's head in.

"_For the better_," he hissed to himself between his teeth. "For- the- _better_."

It was perfectly logical for her to end up smiling at Mike Newton. Mike Newton wouldn't need to stop breathing every time she got a little cut. Mike Newton wouldn't lie awake next to her, unsure if he was making her cold, constantly fighting against the primal inclination to rip her throat out.

Edward groaned to himself, thinking of Bella's throat. He recalled all too well how it felt, his cheek resting against it, the pleasant warmth he had been devoid of for nearly a century.

It also wasn't difficult to forget the intense wish to have his teeth graze the pale skin, to take the bite his goddamned _nature_ screamed at him to take.

Horrified Bella, staring at him in the meadow. She couldn't do a thing for her own good. Even if she could fight him off, she wouldn't even try. It was better that he left her behind, that he ended the indulgent relationship built upon mistake after mistake. He had been selfish for too long- a year too long. He should have never come back to Forks, that rainy day in winter. Maybe then, he might have spared her from everything he had put her through. Maybe then, he might have spared himself from the agony of saying those words to her, of seeing her face like that, her eyes truly believing that he didn't want her.

Edward leaned back in his seat, staring blankly up at the ceiling. He let all the memories flood back, let himself drown in the faint reminisce of her scent, the recollection of her smile, and the feel of her fingertips, hesitant but curious, brushing his lip.

Then he shut them all away, behind rusted padlocks and a shark-infested moat in his mind. He was not going to allow himself to tread those waters, he couldn't bring such pain upon himself. He was going to quit Bella, cold turkey.

Edward got back onto the highway, eyes scanning the horizon for a street marker, something to remind him of his course. He drove at an almost legal pace, all too aware of the broken ring that was his steering wheel.

In his mind, there was only her. Always stubborn, always impossible, always Bella.

Edward floored it.


End file.
